He wakes unexpectedly, perhaps three or four hours later. It’s not a sharp awakening, and it takes him a moment to place what woke him. The sensation of actually being comfortable and relaxed, of having slept and enjoyed it, distracts him.
But the air is a little cooler than it should be on his face, and there’s a quiet sound of footsteps and a crackling that tells him that it was the fire being stoked and stirred which roused him.
Maybe Nicoló is restless, or cold, or perhaps he was already awake, but Yusuf suspects not. He feels a little warmer for reasons unrelated to the fire.
He can hear the other man pad quietly back to his bedroll and lie down. He sighs, settles himself in, and murmurs, ‘Mmh.’
Yusuf’s eyes fly open. A moment later he’s ashamed of himself, and more than a little chagrinned. He knows, or he really ought to by now, the difference between what a man sounds like when he’s taking his pleasure and what he sounds like enjoying a more basic one like a warm bed – and this man particularly so.
And besides, what of it even if Nicoló did want a pleasant moment to himself? He was hardly obligated to invite Yusuf to participate.
Still… they’re both awake now, and it is a pleasant idea. Yusuf stretches, grunting a little as his back cracks, and squirms just enough that Nicoló can hear it, if he’s listening.
He is.
There’s something that sounds very much like a small chuckle, and then a longer, more ostentatious moan of ‘Mmmmmmmm…’ Yusuf smiles into the darkness, getting a hand around himself and pulling leisurely as his cock starts to fill.
He sighs, pleased and warm and just content. There’s no urgency, only an easy, relaxed pleasure. He thinks idly that maybe this isn’t so different than sitting side by side with Nicoló, staring wordlessly and companionably into the fire together. It’s just another way of doing that.
He runs his thumb over the head of his cock and groans appreciatively in that way Nicoló seems to like. His reward is a quiet moan and the soft, somehow intoxicating, sound of the other man’s body rocking against the blankets and the dust of the cave floor.
Yusuf pushes his own blanket down a little. He’s much warmer than he was only minutes ago, and it has very little to do with the stoked fire. The cave is still cool enough that the brush of the air against his bare chest makes an agreeable full-body shiver work its way from his head to the soles of his feet.
“Uhh,” Nicoló moans. “Oh...” Out of habit, or reflex, something like it, Yusuf turns his head toward him, only to realize in the very second he opens his eyes that this time, they are not across the fire from each other, with only a hazy leaping blaze visible if passion gets the best of them. The fire is in the cave mouth, they are behind it, and Nicoló is not four feet away and entirely visible.
The sight is so breath-taking that Yusuf stops.
He stops everything, entirely, not even moving so much as to let go of himself because he doesn’t actually remember what his hand was doing. It’s not even lust – Nicoló’s head is thrown back, neck arched in a perfect line, firelight and shadow flickering against his bare skin, golden and red where the flames kiss it. He’s so beautiful. The shadows smudge along his neck and shoulder, leaving him dark and pale at once. They dance with the light. His nose casts a less ephemeral darkness across one cheek, a dusky patch like the night brushed her fingers against his face. His hair is dark against the glow, but the light catches one strand as it falls over his forehead, gleaming down its length. He looks holy, like he should be captured in every art there is, like he should be forbidden.
Then he groans low, his throat rippling, adjusts his arm beneath the blankets and arches as he strokes himself and – oh. Now it’s lust.
Yusuf whimpers, so swamped with heat he forgets, for a moment, that there’s anything he can do about it. It’s a broken, distressed sound, unlike anything he can remember making before, and although Nicoló’s body jerks with it, his eyes open, and Yusuf can see him frown slightly in concern.
Then he sees Yusuf.
There’s a moment, an endless second, where the entire world feels balanced on the edge of a blade – and then they’re falling. The air punches out of Nicoló’s lungs in a way that makes Yusuf want to throw his head back in exultation. He holds back, because if he does that, he can’t see Nicoló’s face, can’t see Nicoló’s eyes fix on his throat, trail down his exposed torso, flicker over and over to the undulating fabric hiding Yusuf’s hand and his groin. Nicolo’s eyes are always beautiful, but in the firelight they’re dark, like something primal and unescapable. Yusuf feels as if he’s about to be consumed, like he’s already being consumed, by his own lust or Nicoló’s he could not begin to tell.
Nicoló’s hand outside the blankets clenches into a fist for a long moment. Yusuf watches the tense muscles in his wrist and thinks of the strength there, thinks of touching it, thinks of the power of Nicoló’s restraint and the gift of his capitulation, thinks of running his lips along that muscle and having those fingers around his own arm and –
He slams his eyes shut before he can lose himself completely, fingers squeezing at the head of his cock to stop himself from spending. He’s vaguely aware that he’s moaning nonsense sounds in the night air.
When he gets his eyes open again, Nicoló meets them for barely a second. He jerks his gaze away so quickly Yusuf is almost wounded, but he forgives it immediately, because Nicoló’s hand unclenches and he uses it to sweep away his blankets so quickly it’s as if he’s been unveiled as a gift from God.
He’s too beautiful to exist, Yusuf thinks dizzily. The firelight plays over Nicoló’s body like a captivated lover, over his chest, his muscled legs, his sides. It would be easy to imagine that it was actually touching him, that he could feel every caress, the way he gasps and moans and runs his hand up and down his slick, dripping shaft, too loose on purpose. Yusuf has never objected to the prohibition of capturing living beings in art, but he thinks he cannot bear the thought of this man, this moment, existing only in his imperfect memory. Nicoló was made to be drawn and it’s blasphemous but he doesn’t care, which is worse, and he doesn’t care about that either.
Nicoló watches Yusuf’s eyes rake across his body, watches them fix on his cock, and moans repeatedly, panting. He tightens his fingers, pumps himself harder and faster, and the idea that this is for his benefit sends lightning zigzagging down Yusuf’s spine. He gasps “Yes,” trying and failing to match Nicoló’s pace, too frantic for restraint, and the other man’s gaze snaps up to meet his, eyes somehow even darker.
Then, he lifts a little, turning halfway onto his side, one leg falling away, the other raised and bent at the knee to fully display himself.
Yusuf lets out a sound he barely recognizes as human, and then he’s up on one elbow, shoving his remaining blankets away with his free arm. He collapses back to the cave floor so hard he cracks his head and probably bruises his back, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t notice, what is pain when this is before him? The head of Nicoló’s cock is displayed perfectly as he works his shaft, and Yusuf wants to touch it, to close his lips around it, to lie here forever and watch, just watch, to trace the patterns of firelight with his tongue until neither of them know how to speak. Nicoló’s breath is escaping in hitching grunts with every stroke, and his throat ripples with them. They’re too close together, Yusuf thinks, dizzy with want, drunk with lust. He can’t see it all at once. How can he be expected to choose?
Nicoló’s eyes are locked on Yusuf’s groin, on the way he’s jerking himself hard and fast, too hard, too fast, but he could hardly do otherwise, the fire is dancing on Nicoló’s skin but it is inside Yusuf’s, he can feel Nicoló’s gaze on his cock and it’s like touch, like a shiver of cold air, like desire itself, nothing he’s ever known, and –
Nicoló gasps, “Yusuf–” and the world vanishes into pure sensation as he shakes apart.
As soon as he has any semblance of agency back, Yusuf claws his eyes open, desperate to see, to experience, to not miss a moment. This is so much more precarious than anything that came before and he may never get it again. His whole body trembles as he works himself roughly through the aftershocks, oversensitive and moaning but unable to stop. Nicoló’s eyes are shut, his head tipped back, the entire length of his body still on display, hand working faster now as he fondles his sac with the other, body tense and shaking, so close. Yusuf has been accused of overusing the word but this is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and when Nicoló gasps his name again he can feel his whole chest constrict around it, holding it tight inside him.
It’s half-impulse but entirely deliberate, the way Yusuf moans “Nicoló,”, more than sincere but wanting to see if that will do it – and he’s well rewarded. Nicoló’s eyes open, caressing Yusuf’s face, his throat, before focussing intently on the way Yusuf is still desperately pumping his softening cock. Yusuf flushes, gasps out “Nico–” less deliberately, and before he can form the last syllable, Nicoló is convulsing, groaning out, “Ah, ah–!” so loudly he drowns out his own name on Yusuf’s lips, and spilling all over the cave floor.
“Oh,” Yusuf says involuntarily. “Oh.” He lets go of himself, hissing, too sensitive for touch but mourning the loss of it. He’s overstimulated and euphoric, and he thinks he might be able to go again in a minute, but he doesn’t want to. Nicoló is gasping into the blanket-covered stone with his eyes shut, shoulders shaking, and this is perfect already.
Give An Inch (Fall A Mile): Joe/Nicky, Moving Goalposts (3b/?)
But the air is a little cooler than it should be on his face, and there’s a quiet sound of footsteps and a crackling that tells him that it was the fire being stoked and stirred which roused him.
Maybe Nicoló is restless, or cold, or perhaps he was already awake, but Yusuf suspects not. He feels a little warmer for reasons unrelated to the fire.
He can hear the other man pad quietly back to his bedroll and lie down. He sighs, settles himself in, and murmurs, ‘Mmh.’
Yusuf’s eyes fly open. A moment later he’s ashamed of himself, and more than a little chagrinned. He knows, or he really ought to by now, the difference between what a man sounds like when he’s taking his pleasure and what he sounds like enjoying a more basic one like a warm bed – and this man particularly so.
And besides, what of it even if Nicoló did want a pleasant moment to himself? He was hardly obligated to invite Yusuf to participate.
Still… they’re both awake now, and it is a pleasant idea. Yusuf stretches, grunting a little as his back cracks, and squirms just enough that Nicoló can hear it, if he’s listening.
He is.
There’s something that sounds very much like a small chuckle, and then a longer, more ostentatious moan of ‘Mmmmmmmm…’ Yusuf smiles into the darkness, getting a hand around himself and pulling leisurely as his cock starts to fill.
He sighs, pleased and warm and just content. There’s no urgency, only an easy, relaxed pleasure. He thinks idly that maybe this isn’t so different than sitting side by side with Nicoló, staring wordlessly and companionably into the fire together. It’s just another way of doing that.
He runs his thumb over the head of his cock and groans appreciatively in that way Nicoló seems to like. His reward is a quiet moan and the soft, somehow intoxicating, sound of the other man’s body rocking against the blankets and the dust of the cave floor.
Yusuf pushes his own blanket down a little. He’s much warmer than he was only minutes ago, and it has very little to do with the stoked fire. The cave is still cool enough that the brush of the air against his bare chest makes an agreeable full-body shiver work its way from his head to the soles of his feet.
“Uhh,” Nicoló moans. “Oh...” Out of habit, or reflex, something like it, Yusuf turns his head toward him, only to realize in the very second he opens his eyes that this time, they are not across the fire from each other, with only a hazy leaping blaze visible if passion gets the best of them. The fire is in the cave mouth, they are behind it, and Nicoló is not four feet away and entirely visible.
The sight is so breath-taking that Yusuf stops.
He stops everything, entirely, not even moving so much as to let go of himself because he doesn’t actually remember what his hand was doing. It’s not even lust – Nicoló’s head is thrown back, neck arched in a perfect line, firelight and shadow flickering against his bare skin, golden and red where the flames kiss it. He’s so beautiful. The shadows smudge along his neck and shoulder, leaving him dark and pale at once. They dance with the light. His nose casts a less ephemeral darkness across one cheek, a dusky patch like the night brushed her fingers against his face. His hair is dark against the glow, but the light catches one strand as it falls over his forehead, gleaming down its length. He looks holy, like he should be captured in every art there is, like he should be forbidden.
Then he groans low, his throat rippling, adjusts his arm beneath the blankets and arches as he strokes himself and – oh. Now it’s lust.
Yusuf whimpers, so swamped with heat he forgets, for a moment, that there’s anything he can do about it. It’s a broken, distressed sound, unlike anything he can remember making before, and although Nicoló’s body jerks with it, his eyes open, and Yusuf can see him frown slightly in concern.
Then he sees Yusuf.
There’s a moment, an endless second, where the entire world feels balanced on the edge of a blade – and then they’re falling. The air punches out of Nicoló’s lungs in a way that makes Yusuf want to throw his head back in exultation. He holds back, because if he does that, he can’t see Nicoló’s face, can’t see Nicoló’s eyes fix on his throat, trail down his exposed torso, flicker over and over to the undulating fabric hiding Yusuf’s hand and his groin. Nicolo’s eyes are always beautiful, but in the firelight they’re dark, like something primal and unescapable. Yusuf feels as if he’s about to be consumed, like he’s already being consumed, by his own lust or Nicoló’s he could not begin to tell.
Nicoló’s hand outside the blankets clenches into a fist for a long moment. Yusuf watches the tense muscles in his wrist and thinks of the strength there, thinks of touching it, thinks of the power of Nicoló’s restraint and the gift of his capitulation, thinks of running his lips along that muscle and having those fingers around his own arm and –
He slams his eyes shut before he can lose himself completely, fingers squeezing at the head of his cock to stop himself from spending. He’s vaguely aware that he’s moaning nonsense sounds in the night air.
When he gets his eyes open again, Nicoló meets them for barely a second. He jerks his gaze away so quickly Yusuf is almost wounded, but he forgives it immediately, because Nicoló’s hand unclenches and he uses it to sweep away his blankets so quickly it’s as if he’s been unveiled as a gift from God.
He’s too beautiful to exist, Yusuf thinks dizzily. The firelight plays over Nicoló’s body like a captivated lover, over his chest, his muscled legs, his sides. It would be easy to imagine that it was actually touching him, that he could feel every caress, the way he gasps and moans and runs his hand up and down his slick, dripping shaft, too loose on purpose. Yusuf has never objected to the prohibition of capturing living beings in art, but he thinks he cannot bear the thought of this man, this moment, existing only in his imperfect memory. Nicoló was made to be drawn and it’s blasphemous but he doesn’t care, which is worse, and he doesn’t care about that either.
Nicoló watches Yusuf’s eyes rake across his body, watches them fix on his cock, and moans repeatedly, panting. He tightens his fingers, pumps himself harder and faster, and the idea that this is for his benefit sends lightning zigzagging down Yusuf’s spine. He gasps “Yes,” trying and failing to match Nicoló’s pace, too frantic for restraint, and the other man’s gaze snaps up to meet his, eyes somehow even darker.
Then, he lifts a little, turning halfway onto his side, one leg falling away, the other raised and bent at the knee to fully display himself.
Yusuf lets out a sound he barely recognizes as human, and then he’s up on one elbow, shoving his remaining blankets away with his free arm. He collapses back to the cave floor so hard he cracks his head and probably bruises his back, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t notice, what is pain when this is before him? The head of Nicoló’s cock is displayed perfectly as he works his shaft, and Yusuf wants to touch it, to close his lips around it, to lie here forever and watch, just watch, to trace the patterns of firelight with his tongue until neither of them know how to speak. Nicoló’s breath is escaping in hitching grunts with every stroke, and his throat ripples with them. They’re too close together, Yusuf thinks, dizzy with want, drunk with lust. He can’t see it all at once. How can he be expected to choose?
Nicoló’s eyes are locked on Yusuf’s groin, on the way he’s jerking himself hard and fast, too hard, too fast, but he could hardly do otherwise, the fire is dancing on Nicoló’s skin but it is inside Yusuf’s, he can feel Nicoló’s gaze on his cock and it’s like touch, like a shiver of cold air, like desire itself, nothing he’s ever known, and –
Nicoló gasps, “Yusuf–” and the world vanishes into pure sensation as he shakes apart.
As soon as he has any semblance of agency back, Yusuf claws his eyes open, desperate to see, to experience, to not miss a moment. This is so much more precarious than anything that came before and he may never get it again. His whole body trembles as he works himself roughly through the aftershocks, oversensitive and moaning but unable to stop. Nicoló’s eyes are shut, his head tipped back, the entire length of his body still on display, hand working faster now as he fondles his sac with the other, body tense and shaking, so close. Yusuf has been accused of overusing the word but this is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and when Nicoló gasps his name again he can feel his whole chest constrict around it, holding it tight inside him.
It’s half-impulse but entirely deliberate, the way Yusuf moans “Nicoló,”, more than sincere but wanting to see if that will do it – and he’s well rewarded. Nicoló’s eyes open, caressing Yusuf’s face, his throat, before focussing intently on the way Yusuf is still desperately pumping his softening cock. Yusuf flushes, gasps out “Nico–” less deliberately, and before he can form the last syllable, Nicoló is convulsing, groaning out, “Ah, ah–!” so loudly he drowns out his own name on Yusuf’s lips, and spilling all over the cave floor.
“Oh,” Yusuf says involuntarily. “Oh.” He lets go of himself, hissing, too sensitive for touch but mourning the loss of it. He’s overstimulated and euphoric, and he thinks he might be able to go again in a minute, but he doesn’t want to. Nicoló is gasping into the blanket-covered stone with his eyes shut, shoulders shaking, and this is perfect already.